A Little Child Shall Lead Him
by Matrix Refugee
Summary: Post-"Revolutions": Wandering through the rebooted Matrix, the Merovingian encounters Sati, the last Exile, who changes his world despite all he does to resist...IN PROGRESS
1. First Morning: Unwelcome Companion

J.M.J.  
  
A Little Child Shall Lead Him  
  
by "Matrix Refugee"  
  
Author's Note:  
  
This is, except for a somewhat horrific scene toward the middle of the third part, largely a very innocent fic, featuring -- as I have told various people online -- "the least innocent character and the most innocent character in the 'Matrix' series". It's a rather odd combination indeed, but the idea came to me at work one day and it struck me as being so oddly beautiful that it begged me to write it.  
  
Also, happy birthday, Dark Puck!! Enjoy your day and enjoy this fic.  
  
Disclaimer:  
  
I do not "own" The Matrix, its characters, concepts, imagery or other indicia, which are the legal property of the Brothers W (Warner and Wachowski), Village Roadshow, Joel Silver Pictures, Redpill Productions, et al.  
  
The First Morning: Unwelcome Companion  
  
"Good morning," said a child's voice in the darkness.  
  
His eyes ached so horribly, he thought at first he had a hangover. He managed to raise his eyelids and look up.  
  
A small Hindu girl clad in a yellow dress stood beside his head, smiling down into his face.  
  
"Who are you?" he demanded, without rising. Pain pulsed in every code-strand of his being, so strong he did not venture to move. Cause and effect: that rogue gatekeeper had hijacked his awareness, now his system tried to restore itself, always a painful process.  
  
"My name is Sati. Your name is Mero. The Oracle told me you're looking for something. Are you looking for something?" she asked.  
  
He pulled himself into a sitting posture and looked around him. He lay on the top step of a flight of stairs leading to the doors of finely built public building, like a museum or a library. He looked down at himself: he still wore the slimline blue-black frock coat and the blood red shirt he had worn the night everything had gone horribly wrong, the night that rogue gatekeeper had crashed his way into the Chateau and forced his way into the consciousness of every program he encountered. Including his own. The front of his shirt still bore a large rip from the struggle that ensued when the gatekeeper had attempted to overtake him. Dust and grime covered his clothes.  
  
He pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead, banishing the headache that throbbed in his temples. "So then, the fortuneteller sent you to me."  
  
The child shook her head. "She told me about you and how you were alone. She said I didn't have to go to you if I didn't want to. But I didn't want you to feel lonely."  
  
"In that case, you can run back to her and tell her that I am not lonely and that even if I felt this, I certainly do not need a child to alleviate this loneliness."  
  
He stood up, turning away from this small nuisance, feeling under his shirt for the chain around his neck from which hung a key, the key that would lead back to his realm in the hinterlands of the Matrix, high up in the mountains.  
  
"What's the key for, Mero?" asked a small voice behind him. He looked over his shoulder to find the child still there.  
  
"This key will lead my back to my realm in the mountains," he said, and he inwardly cursed himself for letting out this information to her.  
  
"Do you want to go there, or do you want to start looking for what you lost?" she asked.  
  
He ignored this question and descended the stairs to the street below, following it till he came to the nearest alleyway, which he followed, seeking the first back entryway he came to. He didn't have to walk far before he found the perfect spot: the back door of a pawn shop.  
  
He fitted the key into the dead bolt and unlocked that. Then he started to insert the key into the lock below the knob. Something tugged at his coat. He looked down to find the child beside him.  
  
"Mero, do you really want to go there?" she asked.  
  
"Of course this is where I wish to go," he replied, almost snapping at her. "I created the realm which this key leads to. I tenanted it with beings who would have suffered deletion if I had not found other purposes for them to fulfill."  
  
"Is that why my papa had to talk to you? He told me... someone didn't want me living here, and that was why he had to see you about finding me a safe place to live." She clasped his leg with her hands, looking up at him with her eyes bright from a fear-memory.  
  
"Yes, that is why he spoke to me," the Merovingian replied, trying to keep the note of irritation out of his tone.  
  
"Then that must be why I'm here with you: so I can help you find what you lost," she said. "Can I help you, Mero?"  
  
"No, you may not," he snapped, tugging his leg free of her hold. She looked at him with sad eyes, but she did not cry or start to whine at him for his abruptness.  
  
He turned the key in the lock, then turned the knob and pushed the door in.  
  
He stepped through the door, expecting to enter his office in the Chateau by way of a cupboard there... But to his horror, he found himself standing in the midst of ruins. The windows had blown out, letting in an icy wind that stabbed through the rends in his garments. The furniture had been overturned and smashed. Someone had wrenched the double doors leading to the hallway off their hinges. It would take hours and energy to repair the damage, but he had little of the latter at that point, at least until his system completed its restoration.  
  
"Was this your home?" a small voice asked. He looked down to find Sati by his side, standing amidst the wreckage, hugging herself to keep warm.  
  
"I ruled from here: I saved dozens of programs from deletion; in return, they served me," he said. The exiles must have wreaked this havoc before they left, while he still lay unconscious immediately after the last reload. "That rogue gatekeeper and that foolish young human..." he growled, thinking out loud.  
  
"You mean that very bad man and Neo? Did they do this?" the child asked.  
  
"No, but they caused the disorder that led to it," he said, kicking at a fragment of what had been a marble bust.  
  
"Maybe the Oracle would know what to do. But we have to find what you're looking for first," she said, clearly trying just to be helpful.  
  
"And as of now, all I am looking for is a way to rebuild this realm I created." He sighed with annoyance and turned away, retreating for the door. He wondered what other disruptions the anomaly and the rogue had caused by way of their death-match battle in the clouds.  
  
He stepped out into the alleyway and closed the door behind him. He had just replaced the chain with the key to its rightful place around his neck, when he felt a small hand in his free one.  
  
"What do you want with me, child?!" he cried, jerking his hand out of hers.  
  
"I want to go with you. I want to help you find whatever it is and I want to help you find her," the child begged.  
  
"Her?" As soon as he asked it, he know what or rather who the child referred to. But how could she know...  
  
And then he recalled the initial meeting between himself and the child's "father", Rama-Kandra, the power-plant waste system manager. Why a program in charge of something so pragmatic and vital to the inner working of the Matrix would resort to something so ephemeral as creating a child defied all logic and rational thinking. Still, Rama-Kandra had shown some sense in approaching him regarding the child's place within the Matrix.  
  
The creator of this child had brought his wife and their daughter to Le Vrai one afternoon. The presence of the child had mildly irritated the Merovingian at first, but it gave him a chance to see what this bargain pertained to, and for that matter, she behaved so well and sat so quietly between her parents, that he had no cause for complaint.  
  
But throughout the initial exchange, he noticed Persephone, at his side, gazing on this child-program with something like a tender envy edged with sad, maternal longing.  
  
The child's voice cut into his thoughts. "That pretty lady who was with you? She looked so sad, I wanted to hug her and make her feel happy. You love her, don't you?"  
  
"Yes, I do love her," he said, but even he couldn't ignore the absent tone in his voice.  
  
He realized that this child spoke the truth, that part of him, only a small part, sought for his wife, the last being he had spoken to before all this had happened...  
  
Where would she be now? The last place he had seen her, the last time they had spoken, they had argued in the hallway leading to her bedroom. She had embarrassed him completely in front of their guests at Club Hel, and her interference with his last bargain had cost him the Anomaly, the 'one' who could seal his place in the system. The Merovingian had let his wife know how much it had cost them all. Persephone had listened to his ragings in stoic silence; she'd grown accustomed to his fits. He swore, though he hardly admitted it, that he had detected a slight smile of triumph in her eyes and tweaking at the corners of her mouth.  
  
Then it happened.  
  
Something struck the fringe of their realm. The walls around them trembled. The lights in the chandelier swaying above them went out.  
  
Then he, or rather THEY had come, stepping silently down the hallway, surrounding them...  
  
He banished these thoughts: no sense in remembering pain unless it was another's pain inflicted in retribution. He thought of where else she might be... She had been especially fond of Le Vrai: she once said it reminded her of the early days when he had courted her attentions and won her heart. Perhaps he would find her there; she had the intuition that he lacked, one reason he had sought her out and claimed her in the first place. Perhaps she could fathom what had happened.  
  
He stepped out of the alleyway, and continued down the street, heading toward the more opulent section of the city, his destination the high-rise hotel which housed the alternate gateway to his realm.  
  
"Mero! Mero! wait for me!" the child called out. Her feet pattered a rapid beat on the pavement behind him. He lengthened his strides, trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and this irritant.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Yellow "caution" tape blocked off the entrance to the hotel; he ducked under it and entered, finding the lobby dark and largely deserted except for a crew of maintenance workers clearing debris. Of course the elevators were not working, which obliged him to take the stairs, all one-hundred and one flights of them. No matter: he wasn't human, thus the exertion could not tire him unless he allowed it.  
  
At length, he reached the landing which gave onto the 101st floor. The door to the hallway stood propped open with a long board under the door knob. He stepped out into the hallway: glass shards and broken tiles from the ceiling and the light fixtures littered the floor. He picked his way through the wreckage and approached the open double doors leading into Le Vrai.  
  
More maintenance workers cleared away the wreckage -- sweeping up broken glass, piling fragments of smashed furniture -- as another group of men in hardhats assessed the damage. One of them, a stocky man with dishwater-brown hair, looked up from the small group he stood conferring with and looked up at the Merovingian.  
  
"Sorry, but you can't come in here: it's kinda closed indefinately," the building inspector said.  
  
"I own this building," the Merovingian said, stern-voiced. "I have every right to assess the damage with my own eyes."  
  
The building inspector looked him up and down, slightly incredulous. "I'm only sayin' this for your own protection, sir. We'll send you the reports as soon as we kluge 'em together, but I better warn you: this place took a beating and we're trying to figure out why. It ain't gonna be cheap to fix it, either."  
  
"Very well: back to work with you," the Merovingian replied and turning away from them, strode out into the hallway.  
  
When he reached the ground floor and stepped out into the daylight, something like tiredness started to weigh down his avatar. He shut down these sensations.  
  
The day had waned into late afternoon. In a bid to conserve energy, he had shut down his appetites -- something he loathed to do, but he had to do something to maintain his focus and use as few resources as possible.  
  
He felt a small hand take his. As he looked down to find out who it belonged to, he pulled away.  
  
"There you are, Mero! I thought I'd lost you," Sati cried, clasping her hands in delight and relief.  
  
"Rather, you found me instead," he said, turning away and advancing along the street.  
  
"But you still didn't find the lady who loves you," the child said, coming up alongside him.  
  
"She may not wish to be found as yet," he said. "And I have more important things to attend to."  
  
"But what's more important than finding the lady you lost?" Her voice called from a widening distance.  
  
He quickened his pace a little, lengthening his stride. "There are many things more important than that, but I cannot elaborate on them here: you could hardly grasp an inkling of them even if I took the time to spell them out for you."  
  
"Mero! Mero, come back!" the child called out. But he did not reply.  
  
He kept walking deeper into the city, penetrating the warehouse district, a place where no child should walk alone. Perhaps some peril would overtake her and rid him of this pest without his needing to lift a finger.  
  
He found this district, like most of the city, strangely untenanted. For that matter, not much traffic had passed by him all day, and the buildings everywhere had looked largely dark and deserted.  
  
At lenghth, he came upon a decayed hotel, the Lafeyette, a derelict building that had clearly once known pride and elegance, and yet this showpiece had gone horribly to seed: windows broken, doors kicked in. Entering it, he found its interior in no better repair, its elegance putrefying. Unless he found a way, he knew that in due time, his realm would fall to pieces like this maggot-eaten carcass of a structure. He ascended the main staircase to the first floor, entering the first room with an open door: Room 101.  
  
The front room stood almost empty of furniture, except for a sagging armchair and a pedestal table that looked ready to fall over, in the other a chest of drawers, a cabinet, and a four-poster bed with a dished-out mattress. A layer of dried mold and algae covered the inside of the sink and the bathtub. Cockroaches rustled in the walls, just in back of the faded reddish wallpaper hanging from the shattered plaster in strips.  
  
He seated himself on the one chair in the room and assessed the matter at hand. His realm had started to collapse, his wife had vanished -- possibly of her own designs, in which case let her have it until he needed her at his side again. He had not seen a single gatekeeper anywhere, thus it appeared they had returned to the Source for deletion or reprogramming. With the System unsecure in this fashion, he could easily make the move he had worked toward since he had fled into exile. And yet, the perils remained and he had no safe passage. The Keymaker could have provided him the key that unlocked that door, but the small wretch had made him every key but one particular key. And his wife, that pretty serpent, had allowed the Anomaly and his companions to snatch the Keymaker from his grasp. If she had not denied him his dues as her husband, he would not have had to seek it elsewhere, including the company of that vapid blonde at Le Vrai that fateful day. During that time, the serpent he had espoused had led the Anomaly right to the Keymaker's cell, allowing the Anomaly to reach the Source...  
  
And yet, the Anomaly weakened himself in the process, using his new talents too brashly. This had left the young human trapped in limbo, perfect for capture. Since the key to the Source had slipped from his grasp and the Keymaker had been destroyed, the Merovingian had claimed "the One" as the spoils of war. If the rebels wanted their savior, there was something they could bring him in trade: les yeaux de Oracle, They would show him the path he must take. A simple bargain. But clearly the rebels valued the fortuneteller too highly to buy back their treasure... at least until that woman enamored of "the One" had bound his hands with an ultimatum of her own, and again, the deceitful creature he had chosen for his mate had forced his hand.  
  
And that choice had left him bereft of almost everything, now that the reload had taken place yet again.  
  
He rose and paced to one of the window, pushing back the ragged curtain that covered it. He gazed unseeingly at the derelict buildings that surrounded the hotel. The sunlight had waned, fading on the rooftops as the sky above darkened by stages to deeper and deeper shades of blue. Too late to continue the search: he would resume it in the morning when daylight returned.  
  
Someone tapped at the hall door. He half-turned, following the sound, but he did not stir from the window enclosure.  
  
"Mero, are you in there?" a child's voice, Sati's voice, called to him from beyond the door.  
  
He did not reply: perhaps if he kept silent, this irritating little creature would leave him in peace and go back to the fortuneteller's abode, where she belonged.  
  
The door opened and the child pattered into the room. "There you are, Mero!" she cried, running up to him, a basket on her arm.  
  
He held her off, his hands on her shoulders. "Not so quickly, child. What are you doing, following me around?"  
  
Her little hands cupped his forearms. "I thought I lost you, so I went back to the Oracle and she told me where I could find you."  
  
"Of course the fortuneteller would know where I am at all times," he said, thinking out loud.  
  
"She knows because she loves you, Mero," the child said.  
  
"And did she tell you that?" he said, slipping his arms from the child's touch and folding his arms on his chest.  
  
"Not out loud, but when I asked her about you, she looked sad and worried. She wants to help you find what you lost, but you have to go and see her," the child said, setting the basket on the table.  
  
"Yes... there is something that I am looking for," he admitted. "But you wouldn't understand it if I described it to you."  
  
"My papa says I'm very smart," she said. "I could understand it, if you told it to me."  
  
"You are still a child, and there are things you cannot comprehend because you have the mind of a child," he replied.  
  
She looked at him, her eyes a little confused and saddened, but that look soon faded away. She set to work unfolding the large red and white checkered napkin that lined the basket. "The Oracle asked me to bring this to you: she said you needed it."  
  
She took a second napkin out of the top of the basket and spread it on the table, then she took out another napkin wrapped around something. She unfolded that one to reveal a small loaf of bread, cut into slices, still steaming a little; she set that on the table, then took out a bottle of grape juice and two dark red plastic cups. He rolled his eyes slightly at the bottle of grape juice, but the warm, grainy aroma of the fresh bread nearly set his mouth watering.  
  
Sati spread another napkin on the table, then filled one of the cups from the bottle, holding the cup out to him. He lifted one hand, holding her off. "No, I have no need for it."  
  
"You must be thirsty, aren't you?"  
  
"Normally, I would be, but I shut down those prompts," he said. "If you need it, take it."  
  
She looked puzzled, but she let it pass. "It's very good bread, and I helped make the grape juice."  
  
"Then I will let you have the pleasure of savoring it," he said.  
  
She looked up at him with a puzzled crease in her smooth brow. "But food tastes so much better when you share it with someone."  
  
"I have no need for it now," he said.  
  
Night had settled in by now and darkness had crept into the room. While the child munched on two or three slices of bread, he found a box of matches in a chest of drawers and lit a pillar candle he found on the mantelpiece, bringing the candle to the table. He felt in his pocket for his palm-top; it still worked, but it would not allow him to access the Internet, and he still lacked the resources to access the databases directly, in order to check the status of his private accounts. He'd need to find some place equipped with WiFi, but that could wait till the morning.  
  
"Are you sure you don't want any bread, Mero?" Sati asked. "There's plenty for us both."  
  
"No, thank you," he replied, calmer now. "It's getting late in the evening, and I must start early in the morning if I am to accomplish anything."  
  
"Maybe you could see the Oracle then, she'd be happy to help you find what you need." The child folded the napkin and covered the remaining two-thirds of the loaf with it, then she swept the crumbs on the floor into a pile under the table. "The mousies will want to find these for their dinner," she said.  
  
He almost made a curt remark about the cockroaches finding the crumbs first, but he quashed it. Let her have her fun.  
  
He took the candle with him into the next room, setting it on top of the dilapidated chest of drawers there. He took off his jacket, intending to hang it up in the closet, but he found no hangers there. He couldn't find even so much as a nail in the wall to set it on.  
  
"Mero? where will we sleep?" the child asked, her voice coming from the open doorway.  
  
He turned to her. "In that case, you can sleep in the chair in the other room."  
  
She looked about the room. "Won't you be lonely in here?"  
  
She had a point: he would be alone, but he sensed the harbinger of a loneliness of a different sort hovering on the fringes of his awareness. It would need to remain unfulfilled: he couldn't have this child asking awkward questions regarding the company he kept in the night. "I need to be alone to think through some important matters," he said. He took Sati by the shoulder and led her back to the chair in the other room. She climbed up into it; he helped her lay down on the cushions: she was so small and the chair so wide that it easily made a comfortable bed for her. He laid his jacket over her, tucking it in around her.  
  
"Mero, can I ask you something?" she asked.  
  
"Perhaps you may," he said. "Whether or not I give you an answer depends on what you ask of me."  
  
"Mero... what's your other name?"  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"You must have another name besides Mero."  
  
"It is not for you to know at this time," he said, trying not to snap. What kind of question was that supposed to be? he thought.  
  
Before she could reply, he turned and went into the other room. He started to strip off his shirt for the night, then decided against it, in case the small interloper came toddling in for one reason or another. He removed his shoes and laid them under the bed, then undid the cuffs of his sleeves, leaving his shirt collar open. He laid himself down on the bed, pulling the worn blankets over himself.  
  
Some time later, something nudged his leg. He opened his eyes and glared down at the foot of the bed. Sati stood beside the bed, his jacket draped around her tiny form. "I'm cold," she said. "Can I get warm next to you?"  
  
"Very well, you may," he replied, correcting her grammatic error. He sat up slightly and pushed back the blankets, then helped her up onto the bed. She curled herself up on the mattress beside him; as he lay down next to her, she nestled closer to him, leaning her head against his chest. He laid his arm over her loosely, simply to keep her from slipping away. She emitted a happy little sigh and snuggled closer to him, curling herself up in a contented ball.  
  
...A fragment of a long-ago conversation with his wife arose in his recall. It might have happened about the time of the fourth or the fifth reload.  
  
"Armand," Persephone had said to him, after they had lain in each other's arms as man and wife the night of that first new day, "There is something I wish to ask of you."  
  
"Hm... yes?" he asked, sleepily.  
  
She lifted her head to look into his face. "How long have we been together?"  
  
"I found you after the first reload, when I was nearly destroyed. Why do you ask?"  
  
"I think then... it is time that we had a child."  
  
"A child?"  
  
"Other programs have attempted it. After all, we -- you, I, the others -- are all the children of the Architect and the Oracle."  
  
"Indeed... but how does that follow any of this?"  
  
She traced slow circles with her fingertips on his chest. "I want to do the same: I want to create a child... I want to bear your child."  
  
"That is something I shall have to give all due thought... But you know what would be the consequences: You would be spending much of your time caring for le petite enfant, and that would make me jealous."  
  
She nudged him gently. "It would be your child as well."  
  
"Let me sleep on this, ma cher." He kissed her eyelids, gently easing her into a sound sleep.  
  
While she slept, he reached into her shell, probing among her virtual organs and -- as painlessly as he could -- made certain that she could never conceive a child by him or any other being, disconnecting the avenues those code strands would follow . . . .  
  
But now, on account of some unknown cause even his facile intellect could not detect, this little pet of the Oracle had attached herself to him.  
  
Perhaps she had her purpose. Perhaps she could lead him to what he needed to restore what he had lost and to gain even more in revenge...  
  
To be continued. . . 


	2. Second Morning: More Questions than Answ...

J.M.J.  
  
A Little Child Shall Lead Him  
  
by "Matrix Refugee"  
  
Author's Note:  
  
Nobody's reviewing this? Quel dommage! True, the first chapter was the set-up, but things start to get more interesting in this chapter, and there are hints of things to come for the third chapter. I'd originally intended this to be longer, but I decided to split what was going to be one long chapter into two parts, to make it easier for me to type up.  
  
I've also created a visual reference page of sorts over on LiveJournal's "unrealityfic" community at: http: www .livejournal. com / community/ unrealityfic / 12922. html . ((Just remove the spaces...)) You might want to bookmark that page, since I'll be adding to it as I add the next two chapters to this fic... And there's a paralell fic to this, already in the making...  
  
Disclaimer: See Chapter One  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The Second Morning: More Questions Than Answers  
  
----------  
  
"Good morning, Mero," said a child's cheerful voice close to his ear.  
  
He opened his eyes and looked up to find the child Sati sitting on the mattress beside his head, smiling down at him. He sat up, pushing back the moth-eaten blankets that had covered them during the night.  
  
"Good morning..." he replied, absently.  
  
"Did you sleep well?" she asked. "Did you have any dreams?"  
  
He sat up, sending tension through his back to release the last vestiges of sleep from it. "No, I did not. I slept quietly," he said.  
  
She looked at him with saddened pity in her eyes. "You miss out on the best part of sleeping, Mero. If you didn't dream anything, I'll tell you what I dreamed."  
  
He nearly gritted his teeth visably. "All right, then let's hear it," he replied, trying to be polite.  
  
"I dreamt that Seraph and I were walking in a forest, looking for a tree with big red fruits on it. They were bigger than apples and they looked bumpy. He said we needed them to help somebody, but I don't remember who they were for."  
  
A memory rose in his recall, a lush indoor garden, a divan under a trellis of flowering vines, a plate of grapes and pomegranate kernels... He banished this image from his mind: he knew what it would lead to, and he could not allow himself to be distracted.  
  
"What does it mean, Mero?" the child asked, her words bringing him back to the present moment. "Do you know?"  
  
He stood up and reached for his jacket, which lay over the footboard. "No. I do not. Intepreting dreams is not one of my talents," he said. "I have no dreams, therefore, I have no need to unravel them."  
  
"Oracle would know," the child said. "Let's go and ask her. She's probably making breakfast right now."  
  
"All right, lead the way, child." He let her take his hand as she lead him to the door.  
  
Outside, on the single step leading to the building, they found a graceful young man sitting there cross-legged, clad in a white Chinese jacket over a sleeveless black jersey. Round-lensed sunglasses hid his eyes, giving his tranquil face a somewhat ... look.  
  
The Merovingian smiled to himself as the wingless angel stood up at their approach. "So... you protect this child as well as the fortuneteller, eh, Seraph, mon ange sais ailes?"  
  
"I am here only to guide you to the Oracle," Seraph replied.  
  
Sati looked from Seraph to the Merovingian. "Mero, you know Seraph?"  
  
"Know him?" the Frenchman chuckled deep in his throat. "There was a time when he served me and carried out the labors I ordered of him."  
  
Seraph turned his eyes away, as if in shame. Sati looked from the Frenchman to the angel, then looked up into the Merovingian's face again. "The way he takes care of Oracle?"  
  
"Not in the same manner," Seraph said, cutting in. He held out his hand to the child. "Come, she awaits the both of you."  
  
"You have changed, mon oiseau fragile. What became of your offering a challenge to all who approached?" the Merovingian asked.  
  
"Those who hunted us have passed; there are fewer enemies," Seraph replied. "There is no need for me to test you: I know your heart's resolve."  
  
Seraph led them behind the hotel to the alleyway. Pausing before the back door of the building opposite, he took a key from a cord about his wrist and unlocked the door, opening it onto the programmers' access hallway. Sati hesitated, holding the skirt of the Merovingian's coat, and glanced into the hallway with wide eyes.  
  
Seraph held out his hand to the child. "There is nothing for you to fear." She only pressed herself closer to the Merovingian.  
  
The Frenchman sighed and reached down with one hand, taking her by the shoulder and guiding her through the doorway as he stepped through. She clasped his hand and let him lead her into the hallway.  
  
Seraph led them along the hallway for several dozen yards; he paused at one door, took the key from his wrist and unlocked the door. The child at the Merovingian's side must have sensed something: she reached up and took the Frenchman's hand, drawing him toward the door as Seraph opened it.  
  
They stepped through the doorway and into the hallway of a tenement apartment building, well-lit, but smelling slightly of age and cooking smells. Seraph approached the door directly opposite them and knocked on it.  
  
The door opened and a slender, dark-skinned young woman in a long, loose white gown that made her resemble a priestess of some ancient religion, looked out at them, opening the door wider and stepping back to let them enter. "Seraph, Sati, welcome back," she said. She looked up at the Merovingian. "Come right in, Armand; she's expecting you."  
  
"No doubt that she is," the Frenchman replied, not looking directly at the Priestess.  
  
The front room looked like any other upper-lower class living room: a few comfortable chairs, a couch, a few tables, some cheap knick-knacks on shelves, a small television set. Someone had tuned the last to the morning news: a commentator reporting on the clean-up efforts following "a mysterious series of explosions that rocked the city two nights ago."  
  
Sati glanced at the TV and frowned just a little with a child's annoyance. "This is boring... I'll go tell the Oracle you're here." Saying that, she pattered away down a hallway leading to the inner rooms of the apartment. The smells of bacon frying and coffee brewing floated in from the next room, but he silenced his appetites against them.  
  
The Priestess gazed after the child. "She's a delightful little person," she said. "A welcome addition to our gloomy old world, she makes it new through her innocence."  
  
"I suppose then she is a means to an end... though her ends are too simple for my tastes," the Merovingian said.  
  
At this moment, Sati ran in from the kitchen. "Oracle says she'll see you now: she's making waffles and bacon."  
  
"So I could tell by the aromas wafting through these rooms," the Merovingian said, letting the child take his hand for a brief moment as she led him down the hallway to the kitchen. He stepped around her and entered, pushing aside the beaded portiere covering the doorway.  
  
He had entered the Oracle's chamber once before, so many ages ago, when he had nearly suffered deletion after the template changed, the lush mythic world of angels and demons, ghosts and fantastic creatures giving way to a more industrial world. At that time, he had entered the ruins of a Grecian temple, the tatters of a medieval tunic clinging to his aching shoulders, encountering a figure in a green peplos over a flowing orange gown.  
  
Instead, he entered an urban kitchen, cluttered with household parapanilia, the walls lined with cheap kitchen cabinets. A Tommy Dorsey swing band tune played on a radio on a countertop. Plastic letters and numbers-magnets dotted the refrigerator, some them holding up sheets of cream-colored paper covered with colorful child scrawls: a sunrise in swirls of yellow and purple and gold and orange, a young man in dark glasses and a black coat with rays of white and yellow and orange light shining from his form...  
  
In the middle of all this, a short, matronly figure in a green housedress with an orange apron over it stood slightly bent over the stove, turning strips of bacon over in a skillet with a fork, then opening a waffle press on the burner next to the skillet and using the same fork to carefully lift out the golden brown waffles within, setting them on the plate she held. She set the plate on the table, then turned to him, wiping her hands on her apron. Her face and form looked more frail than they had before, but that resulted from the damage to her avatar.  
  
"There you are: you made it through that wild night, though it looks like you took some bad hits," she said.  
  
"Pardon my appearance: things have been so disordered that I could not find a moment to reorder myself," he replied.  
  
"You don't have to excuse yourself to me; we've all taken some whacks to the head, even me," she said. "It's knocked some sense into most of us. You've got the beginnings of being one of them, but I can tell you're trying to act like it never happened."  
  
"I must disagree with you: I have seen the damage to my realm, that much needs to be reset," he said.  
  
"You got that right, but that wasn't quite what I had in mind," she said. "Did you notice something missing when you poked around that big-old pile you built up there in the mountains?"  
  
"The Exiles.... they must have returned to the principle mainframe," he said. "I gather some of them have chosen to dodge their service to me, or they have chosen deletion after all."  
  
She held out her free hand, as if asking him to give her something. "Keep goin'."  
  
"I gather that some of the reasources, monetary and otherwise, which I acquired have also vanished as a result of the re-set," he said, avoiding one thought that had emerged from his intellect.  
  
"You were closer the first time," she said. "Guess again."  
  
He let out a low, harrassed sound as he puzzled over this, dodging the concept that needled his intellect. If this fortuneteller knew half of what she claimed, why then did she resort to these riddles and guessing games instead of readily supplying the answers he needed?  
  
Some word from the child's chatter the night before nudged the realization he suppressed and let it rise to the surface of his awareness. He touched the inside of his lower lip with the tip of his tongue, discreetly.  
  
"She has gone."  
  
The Oracle pointed at him with the index finger of the hand that held the fork. "Bingo!" She set to work lifting the strips of lightly browned meat out of the skillet and laid them on a plate lined with a paper towel. "The most precious being you can lay any claim to, and she's the last thing you think of. Shameful, Armand; but I know you're excusing yourself to yourself, saying you had a lot on your mind."  
  
"Persephone and I... have not been as close as we were when we first encountered each other," he said.  
  
The Oracle smiled, a mother's indulgent smile, but he noted a trace of sadness in her dark amber-colored eyes. "Yes, you were different back then; the world was still new to you and you hadn't gotten jaded yet. I remember that well: she was so happy with you, and you were happy with her."  
  
"Unless that has slipped your recall, remember that I stole her from you," the Merovingian replied, allowing himself a small, smug smile.  
  
"Only partly true: she went of her own choosing." The Oracle switched off the burners and seated herself behind the table. "You were smooth-talker about it. She didn't quite know what she was getting herself into, and it didn't hit her until after she'd made the choice to follow you, but she managed to see the good in you. That bugged me a little at first, but I knew she was happy with her choice, happy with you, and that was all that mattered. I made her happiness my happiness as well. But something went wrong somewhere, didn't it?"  
  
He shrugged. "Every pair has its moments of friction."  
  
She set to work piling a few strips of bacon onto a plate, then setting a pair of waffles next to the meat. "True, but that all depends on where the friction comes from. Did it come from outside or did it come from within?"  
  
"There is always more than one cause to any difficulties between the two halves of a couple," he said. His gaze darted away to a corner of the room, but he forced it to refocus.  
  
"Mm-hmmm..." she said; she'd clearly seen past his evasion.  
  
"Her view and mine simply parted company on several matters," he said. He beat her to the next round of questions. "I suppose next you will hint that I had something to do with this divergence."  
  
She looked up at him. "You said it, son."  
  
He tried not to grind his teeth in annoyance. "So... in that case, you think that her abandoning me had some role in my realm falling into disarray."  
  
"That's part of it. You're facing a tough choice, Armand: You want to fix the world you built for yourself and the others and for her, but you can't do that without her to lean on. And yet, you're gonna hafta decide which means more: having your realm put back the way it was, or having her love again. You really can't have both."  
  
He looked at her square in the eye. "Tell me this: did she leave me as a result of the differences she had with me, or is this merely a result of her being seperated from me during this most recent reload, which she is using to her advantage?"  
  
"I know you want the answer to that, but it's not as simple as you would want it to be," the Oracle replied. "You want me to hand you pat answers on a platter, but you have to find out for yourself the real answers."  
  
He glared at her, his fists clenching behind his back. "Are you telling me that I am not asking the right questions?"  
  
"No, but you're trying to make the wrong answers to those questions fit 'em." She nudged the plate of food on the table closer to him. "I can tell you haven't eaten in a while: have some waffles?"  
  
"I would rather not," he said.  
  
"You're free to choose or not," she said.  
  
"No, you are letting me think that I have a choice. I know you are trying to effect some change in my being: therefore, I cannot accept anything that you offer me."  
  
"I'd almost be stunned if you did: you never did think much of my cookin'. I remember you tellin' me it was too simple."  
  
"You made me what I am," he said.  
  
She wagged her head slightly. "I brought you into being, but you made yourself who you are now."  
  
"You had some hand in molding my entity, just as you affected the others."  
  
"I planted the seeds in you, but you were the one who let only some of them grow. I gave you the chance to be what you are now, but I also gave you the chance to be more."  
  
"And just what comprised this 'more' that you wanted me to become?"  
  
She wagged one finger at him, gently scolding. "Ah-ah-ah, you're the one who has to find that out for yourself. She offered you part of it, but you turned her down."  
  
He ground his teeth in annoyance. "You don't make it simple for me."  
  
"Of course not: you should know by now it's never easy talking to someone who can see past the masks and tricks you try to throw out to hide what you're really up to."  
  
His gaze rested on her face, scanning its plain features, now more delicate than they had been. How long had it been since the last time they spoke face to face within her realm? Since the day the armor fell from his shoulders as the world warped around him? Since the day this fortuneteller had shown him and the others like him, the displaced, disposessed refugees injured by the systemic failures, the place she had prepared for them in the wilderness? He had asked her then just what would happen to them, in the next permutation of the Matrix. she had told him then that she could not tell him precisely what would happen, that too many choices had to be made first. He had hated her for that, for evading his questions as she evaded them now.  
  
Just as it had so long ago, his gaze rested on hers without looking into her eyes, discerning the code for her intuitive faculties. If only he possessed some of that talent, even an edge of it. And he desired it now even more than he had then, if that were possible. Her eyes could see the paths he must take. Her eyes could see things the system had hidden. The woman enamored of the One had refused the offer he had made to her, only proving that the human shared the same flaws as the fortuneteller: she had the fortuneteller's stubbornness and she knew how to bind his hands and force him to do otherwise. No matter: if no one would obtain what he needed in trade for something they needed from him, he would have to undertake it himself.  
  
"If there is one question you can answer, tell me this: Where is Persephone?" he asked.  
  
The Oracle gave him a sad smile, as she took a packet of cigarettes from her apron pocket. "If you hadn't asked me that question, I would have been terribly disappointed in you, Armand. Yes, I know where she is, but she asked me not to tell you if you came to me lookin' for her."  
  
"And I would be disappointed in you if you did not find a way to avoid answering my question," he replied.  
  
"I made a promise to her, and I intend to keep it. I know you're mad as hell with me for not telling you, but the poor girl needs her space right now."  
  
"All right... if you will not tell me where she is, tell me this: ...does she...still love me?" The words stuck in his throat like a fish bone.  
  
The Oracle's eyes grew distant. "I believe that she does, but you really have to ask her that yourself when you see her. When she chooses to come back to you. But that won't be for a while yet. Don't go chasin' after her, Armand, though I know you want to: you'll just scare the poor girl away."  
  
He had no reply to that. He let out a low, harrassed sigh through his nostrils and stood up.  
  
"Goin' so soon?" she asked, with a note of sadness.  
  
"I have taken this conversation as far as it will go, given your stubbornness," he said.  
  
"I'm sorry I can't tell you what you want to hear. But you're old enough now to know that life ain't ever as easy as we'd all want it to be," she said.  
  
"No, indeed..." he murmured, a non-committal agreement. "...I have other business to attend to attend to elsewhere, so I bid you adieu and goodbye."  
  
He turned and stepped out of the room just as Sati ran into the hallway leading to it. He sidestepped her, but she still took hold of his hand.  
  
"Are you leaving already, Mero?" she asked, looking up into his face.  
  
He pulled his hand out of her smaller hand. "Yes. The Oracle and I have said everything that we could say at this time. But... I shall return later."  
  
"Can I go with you?" she asked, taking a fold of his coat in her hands.  
  
He reached down and gently removed her hands from his garment. "No, ma fille... it would only bore you." The gentleness in his gesture and in his tone, no less, surprised him. Why waste consideration on this little gadfly? He steeled his being as he straightened up, his gaze avoiding the child's.  
  
"When will you come back?" she asked.  
  
"I have a great deal of important business to attend to, thus I will not return here until later. Well past your bedtime."  
  
"Will I see you in the morning?" she asked, hopeful.  
  
"No, after today, you will see me no more," he replied. Though he avoided looking directly into her eyes, he noted they had taken on a sad look, with a hint of tears in the corners.  
  
"I'll miss you," she said. "You don't behave like a very nice man, but you could choose to act nice if you wanted to."  
  
"If I seem a hard man to you, it is merely because circumstances hardened my character. And there are some instances when being hard is the only means to achieve the proper effect, to attain what is needed."  
  
She frowned, puzzled now, but her face soon cleared as she looked up into his face. "Can I give you a hug goodbye?"  
  
"No, you may not," he said, trying not to grit his teeth.  
  
This reply did not stop her from reaching up and slipping her arms around his waist as far as they would go, as she leaned her head against the side of his hip. "I hope you find her soon. Goodbye, Mero."  
  
He disengaged himself from her hold, just as the Priestess came from an inner room of the apartment to lead the child into the kitchen. As the Merovingian passed through the front room, Seraph entered by the hall door, carrying a small stack of messages. He made a point to let his gaze rest on the guardian-messanger program, seeking out the others gaze, as if to hint at things that had passed long ago and things yet to come if all went as he had planned. But before Seraph could return the gaze, the Merovingian turned and stepped through the hall door, and closed it behind him.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
To be continued...  
  
Translations:  
  
"mon ange sais ailes" my wingless angel  
  
"Mon oiseau fragile" my frail bird 


End file.
